House of Cards
by hanakazari
Summary: Collection of drabbles and vignettes, Tortallverse. 15: you are a knight of the kingdom now.
1. tower

**Tower**

-

Her song comes to an end.

Kalasin steps onto the railing, feeling for the last time, the sun on her face, the wind in her hair. She looks at the lowlanders, staring at her in shock and uncertainty. And then at her own people, watching silently from the back. They know what she is going to do. They are not going to stop her. But their eyes show their gratitude. And their grief.

Kalasin closes her eyes and thinks only of the fall.

Adigun arrives too late. By the time he reaches the tower, there is nothing left to see but a body.

-


	2. damascus

**damascus**

-

"It's not fair," Jasson says. He sits on the edge of her bed, swinging his legs and watching as Kalasin carefully packs away the last of her belongings.

"What isn't?" Kalasin pulls the roll of paper towards her, measuring out the lengths. She should get a maid to do this, but she doesn't. This way she can say her own goodbye, of sorts.

"That you have to go away. Roald gets to stay at home. I don't see why you shouldn't."

Snip, snip, snip. "Because that's the way things are. The wife goes to the husband's household. Shinko had to come here."

"It's still not fair," Jasson says stubbornly.

There is nothing Kalasin can say to that. Instead, she starts to wrap up one of her dog statuettes; the one that Roald gave her last Midwinter. (She tries not to think about how that was probably her last Midwinter, ever.)

After a while Jasson comes up and puts his arms around her. Kalasin is surprised; his eight-year-old pride doesn't allow for much show of emotion. She abandons her wrapping and hugs him back, rocking him gently, as she did so many times when he was a baby.

"I don't want you to go," he mumbles into her hair.

"I don't want to go, either." Kalasin tries very hard not to cry. Instead, she pats Jasson's back and pulls away gently, because _now_, she tells herself, _now is the time to be strong_.

She can't help thinking that she would rather have been weak.

-


	3. flowers for the fallen

**Flowers for the fallen**

-

They were in the royal wing when the centaurs attacked. Kalasin remembers every moment of it; the screams of rage, the screams of terror, the clash of blades. She remembers the cries of the dying and the blood that stained her hands.

But most of all she remembers him; the young knight who fought to save them until his last breath. She remembers his reckless courage and his brave smile.

She remembers holding his hand as he died.

So when the war is finally over she and Roald place flowers on his grave and pray that he has found some measure of peace after death. They stand there quietly for a moment.

"He didn't deserve to die," Kalasin says after a while. She reaches unconsciously for her brother's hand.

"No one does, really," replies Roald.

-


	4. scent of jasmine

**Scent of jasmine**

-

Kalasin watches them as they talk by the fire; Shinko speaking animatedly, Roald nodding, absorbed in her words. Occasionally, Roald laughs. Shinko hides her smile behind her fan. Both of them are relaxed, happy, at ease with each other.

After a while Kalasin turns away.

Shinko is kind, beautiful, intelligent. Her brother has found happiness in a marriage that he did not choose. She should be happy. So why isn't she?

Because she doesn't know if she can find her own.

And because she knows her brother's heart is no longer hers.

-

Feedback appreciated.


	5. indian summer

indian summer

-

It happened the same time every year, according to Ozorne; heat waves rolling across the land, bringing with them the stifling heat of Carthaki summer. The sun became blinding; the air rippled like glass in the glare, turning the palace into a shimmering mirage.

Kalasin couldn't remember Tortall ever being this hot. The only blessing was that she was too young for the university, as of yet; but Ozorne had arranged for palace tutors for her, and granted her permission to use his study this morning, before he left for his council meeting. Now, she hunched over at his desk, scratching away at the pile of arithmetic homework the Masters had assigned her.

_A is 50m due east of O. The bearing of B from O is 30 degrees northeast and the distance of B from O is also 50m. Find the distance and bearing of B from A._

Kalasin stared blankly at the words as they swum across the page, not comprehending them. After a while she decided that a diagram would help. Then she realised that she didn't have a ruler, and she didn't know where Ozorne kept his stationary. Not in any of the drawers, at least – when she finally managed to drag herself over to them, they were filled to the brim with neat stacks of reports and records, all branded with the imperial seal.

Eventually, Kalasin gave up and rested her head on the desk instead, polished wood smooth against her skin. She wriggled her toes, cool against the marble floor, and then it struck her. The floor was cold. Her feet were on the floor. Her feet were cold. Therefore –

Ozorne returned to his chambers to find Kalasin sprawled out on the floor of his study, flushed cheeks pressed against the cool marble floor. At the sound of footsteps, she opened one eye blearily.

The Emperor Mage stared down at her, seemingly at a loss for words. _He_ didn't seem to be sweating at all, she noticed hazily.

"Kalasin," he said at last. "Are you not feeling well?"

Kalasin shook her head. "I'm–" she began. She swallowed, and tried again. "I'm not used to this heat."

"Ah," he said. He considered her for a moment, then frowned. "Where are the slaves?"

Kalasin shifted slightly, to a patch of cooler marble. Her hair clung to her face, but she was too hot to brush it out of the way. "I sent them out," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"I see," he said, but he didn't say anything more. There was an uncomfortable pause, then the rustle of fabric, and Ozorne disappeared. Kalasin closed her eyes again.

A gentle clink by her ear stirred her out of her doze. Ozorne carefully placed the glass on the floor next to her, within easy arms reach. Moisture beaded on the clear glass, the ice already melting in the heat.

"Just water," he said, when she looked at him. "You don't have to get up if you don't want to."

Kalasin sat up and took a sip of the water, feeling the chill of the ice against her tongue. Why, she wanted to ask, but she couldn't bring herself to ask.

"Thank you," she murmured instead, and she didn't just mean for the water.

-


	6. etude in e minor

**etude in e minor**

-

Music lessons, once a week. The teacher was a tiny old woman from Tyra (the best there was, her father said), but fierce and unforgiving; unafraid of her student's rank and the power it commanded.

(She is a teacher, her brother shrugged. You cannot teach if you are afraid of your student.)

The room was hot and stuffy, but she dared not ask to open the window. Instead, she laboured at the music stand, the teacher glowering over her shoulder - no, no, you wretched girl! the minor key, not the major! She adjusted her bow and tried again; C sharp, not natural - keep it legato, _legato_. The violin screeched in protest. The teacher closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Once more, please.

She was a disgrace, the teacher told her father, later. A hopeless case. The boy, perhaps, but the girl –

That night at supper her father announced that she was no longer required to attend music lessons. It hurt to be a disgrace (of course it did), but it didn't matter, she told herself. She was going to be a knight. Knights were strong. They didn't need useless things like music.

-


	7. wasteland

**Theme:** 35; war  
**Character:** Ozorne  
**Words:** 90

**-**

**wasteland**

He opens his eyes and he stands on the brink of ruin. The land stretches out before him, barren and bare. There are no birds, no animals: they have long perished, or fled. All that remains of the trees are twisted, blackened stumps, writhing from the ground; the only sound, the wind, howling over the emptiness.

Fool, a voice hisses in his ear; a Stormwing's voice, the voice of the dead. A gaunt face; pale, cold eyes. Do you see now? This is Carthak. This is your empire.

He wakes.

-


	8. white

**Theme: **27, colours  
**Character/s: **Shinko  
**Words: **69

-

In Yaman, white is the colour of death. Old superstition, she knows. She is not even a Yamani anymore. Yet she still remembers the funeral: the voice of the priest, chanting the sutra; the sharp, bitter scent of burning incense; the feel of smooth rosary beads against her hands; snow, falling softly all around them.

Shinko wore white on her wedding day. She felt ill throughout the whole ceremony.

-


	9. messages in the sand

**Theme:** N/A  
**Character/s:** Kalasin, Ozorne, ?  
**Words: **109

Six months after she arrives in Carthak, a package finally arrives for her. It's small and unassuming and messily wrapped in layers of brown paper. There is no seal. Her heart thumps in her chest, painful with hope. She rips through the paper and finds–

-a shell. Tremblingly, her fingertips trace the curves spiralling to the apex, carved lovingly over decades by the sea. Terebridae. She looked it up in one of Ozorne's books, one day when she was missing home. At nine years old she'd spent countless grey mornings searching for them at Pirate's Swoop.

She holds the shell to her ear, gently. She can hear the sea.


	10. till the rising of the dawn

A/N: Thank you to everybody who has reviewed so far. However, I've noticed that the comment to hit ratio is somewhat dismal. I would really appreciate more comments, as I can only improve with feedback. D:

* * *

**Theme:** N/A

**Character:** Dove

**Words: **101

One year into her reign. The isles are unstable as ever. Her days are filled with reports to be read, forms to be approved, guests to greet, appearances to be made, meetings to be run--

Sometimes Dove wants to leave the palace; leave Rajmuat -- the too-bright sun, the merciless heat, the stifling air, thick with sweat and perfume.

She thinks of the Lombyn Highlands. If she cannot rewind time, then let her breathe the cold mountain air. Let her rest in the shadow of clouds. Let her listen to nothing but the wind, whispering, _I give you your soul again._


	11. naturam prium cognoscere rerum

-

Numair found him in the university workrooms, hunched over the furnace, doing something with fire and sand and smoke. The room stank of magic; his Gift had burned its colour into the walls. Numair stood back and watched.

Eventually Tristan straightened, rod in hand. He slapped something down on the table triumphantly. Numair approached warily as Tristan wiped the sweat from his brow.

The object was small, lumpy and blue-green. Numair stared at it for a moment -- then understood. He'd seen the same exercise in the textbook. It was a way of building one's power, by blasting one's Gift out as long as possible. The sand acted simply as a focus, as a goal.

'I thought glass was supposed to be transparent,' frowned Tristan, over his shoulder.

'The natural colour of the soil,' Numair said, thoughtfully. 'Iron impurities in the sand.' He picked the lump of glass up, feeling its warmth and its imperfections against his skin. He could see particles of dirt trapped under the surface, and pointed this out to Tristan.

Tristan shrugged, carelessly. 'It's served its purpose. Throw it out.'

Numair didn't. He put it in his pocket. Eventually it made its way to his shelf, next to the products of his many magical experiments. It stayed there for years later, until the world shattered and Numair wondered why he hadn't seen it coming.

-


	12. follow me back

**Theme:** 51; Magic

**Characters: **Roald, Kalasin

**Words: **125

* * *

Autumn morning; the air is cool, the sky a pale eggshell blue. She follows her brother onto the balcony. He holds the wire frame in one hand, balances the plate in the other. You have to be gentle, he instructs, and she nods solemnly.

Carefully, he lifts the frame to his lips, and _breathes_.

The bubbles stream out into the air, one after another, like those born of the slipstream of some fantastical sea creature, twisting in the current.

Her eyes light up in wonder. She reaches out to touch them, mind buzzing with ancient spells and secret formulas-

-It's just soap and water, he says, shrugging.

She looks at him and her heart hurts. No, she wants to tell him. No. This is magic.


	13. no haven for this heart

**Prompt: **N/A  
**Characters: **Alan, Sarralyn  
**Words: **307

_No haven for this heart_

He's on his way to staff practise when he hears the sounds of a small child, sobbing. He sighs. But even as first-year page, it's been drilled into his bones; _a knight shall protect the weak and defenceless._ So he puts down his staff and goes to search for the source of the crying.

He expects: a spoiled young lord with a scraped knee. A lass from a country fief, lost amid in chaos of the palace. A babe who dropped her sweet in the dirt.

To his surprise, he finds Sarralyn, crouched in the dust near the servant's entrance to the kitchens. Her face is grubby and scratched, her clothes strangely stretched; warped so he can see the individual threads showing in places. Like someone had tried to force not-human limbs into human clothing.

Alan has a bad feeling about this. He crouches down next to her, puts an awkward arm around her shoulder. She looks at him and says with eyes full of tears, 'Cam and Bronnen say I'm a monster. They said their mama says they mustn't play with me.'

'Oh.' He doesn't know what to say. 'What happened to your clothes?'

'I turned into a bear. Not like mama does. Only a small one! I didn't mean to, but they threw sticks at me and-' her throat catches.

Alan shifts, uncomfortably. He wishes Kalasin was here. Or Aly. She always seemed to know what to do.

After a while she says in a small voice, 'Alan?'

'Yes, Sarra.'

'Do you think I'm a monster?'

He thinks about it. 'No,' he says, then has a flash of inspiration. 'Do you want to visit the horses with me?'

'Yes,' she says, and wipes away her tears.

They walk to the stables, together. He doesn't take his arm from her shoulder.


	14. strange little girl

**Prompt: **68; Tori Amos song titles  
**Character/s:** Kalasin, Roald, ?  
**Words: **288

_Strange little girl_  
_  
_In the summer, humans crowd the sea. Sweating men battle through the waves; naked children run and shout in the foam. Women chase after them, skirts hitched up above the water and sand sticking in their hair.

In winter, the beach is abandoned, desolate.

She comes regardless of the season.

She is a novel entertainment for him and his sisters; her and her inexplicable love for the sea, weak and ungainly as she is. Small and slender; pale as the moon; an untimely nudge, they murmur slyly, and she would shatter against the rocks.

And so young, so innocent; he spends many a day amusing himself with attempts to lure her out. Sometimes he lets her catch a glimpse of him; a glint of scales in the sun; a gentle spray of water as he dives. Sometimes he brushes past her underwater, skin smooth and warm in a way no fish scales could be.

His sisters sing to her, when it takes their fancy; songs of a palace; translucent and beautiful, shining with mother-of-pearl. Of gardens of coral and anemone, brilliant in the sunlight. Songs of the immeasurable deep.

She hears. She pauses; tilts her head. Shivers. Her limbs relax their strain against the tide, and she begins her long, slow descent. But before she slips under the surface she glances back to shore, where her brother waits for her; watchful, fearful. And then suddenly her body gains new life, splashing and flailing like a fish out of water.

But for him, he thinks, she would not resist their call. The sea would claim her, lovingly, and at last she would drift out to the horizon, free and weightless.

But he always calls her back.


	15. about monsters

_Why should our children learn about monsters_

After the Ordeal, after he was knighted, he sought her out. She was waiting for him, as he knew she would be. There was no need for words. She held him while he shook.

I wanted to die, he says. I was scared. So scared.

You are a knight of the kingdom now, she says.

But was it worth it? he asks. She is silent. He puts his forehead against her shoulder.


End file.
